The Ghost of the Shipwreck
by Piknonymous
Summary: An origin piece about Minamitsu Murasa, captain of the Holy Palenquin from Undefined Fantastic Object.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I  
**

Minamitsu Murasa was desperate, standing around the makeshift soup kitchen. As she reached the front of the line to get something to eat, one of the volunteers struck up a conversation with her.

"Any luck with a job, miss?"

"Huh?" She blinked, returning to reality. "Oh, no, nothing yet, anyway." Murasa sighed. "I've been here for about five years now, and _still_ nobody's offered me a job The worker nodded, frowning. She noticed another volunteer come in from outside, and chose to take her break at that time, following Murasa to a nearby table, eager to continue the conversation. "Thanks, by the way." Murasa smiled slightly, pushing her short, dark hair out of the way. "It's good to have someone to talk to."

"Of course," the volunteer smiled warmly. "So, how's your family?"

"They're still around, writing every now and then to ask how I'm doing and if I want to come back home," she paused for a moment, "which I don't, to be honest. I couldn't face them if I did." Murasa had an odd sense of pride about having left home to pursue a life in this city, claiming that she'd find a well-paying job soon. Apparently, according to whoever cursed her with unemployment, five years still counted as 'soon.' There was no way she could go back to her family until she did something to better her situation.  
An hour passed as her and the volunteer spoke idly about an assortment of trivial topics: How the innkeeper Murasa was staying with was doing, the weather, the old fishmonger's latest sale, and the fact that – being close to the end of the month – the trade ships would be back soon. The two enjoyed these conversations. For Murasa, it allowed her to stop thinking about trying to find some sort of income; for the volunteer, it allowed her to connect with the people she was helping. Finally, the conversation turned back to Murasa's troubles.

"Argh," she dropped her head on the old wooden table, her dark hair spreading out in front of her. She spoke in a muffled voice. "I just want something better than this. No offense, I like you and the innkeeper and all, but…" She beat her head against it a few more times, speaking in time with the thudding noise. "I just want some employment and a nice little place to live and to stop being so lanky and boy-ish." She looked up, chin still resting on the table. "I know a job can't fix that, but damnit, a girl of my age should not have the figure of a teenage boy!" The volunteer stifled a laugh, looking away. "It's not funny…" She whined for a moment, blinked, then jumped up from the table.

"Is everything alright, Miss Murasa?" The volunteer stood up slowly and took Murasa's empty bowl. Murasa nodded and looked out the door. It was still fairly close to noon.

"Good. Still got time for my daily job hunt." She grinned. _Today is going to be the day I get hired. Definitely. No chance of anyone saying I lack experience._ She ran out the door and began her search. As she did every day, she started it with the old fishmonger who had set up a stand by the harbor.  
"I'm sorry, miss, but you lack the experience," the old fishmonger said. "My people want a man who knows the difference between a halibut and a tuna; they want someone who knows when, where, and how a fish is best cooked and eaten. Maybe get a few years on a boat, and then come back." He patted her shoulder and handed her a bag, likely containing an undefined, fantastic object. Of course, it just contained fish, as she could tell by the smell. "But if you'll run that over to the inn you're stayin' at, I may be able to give you some advice." He nodded out toward the docks, grinning. When he looked back, Murasa had left, leaving only a trail of dust in her wake.

_It may not be much,_ she thought, sprinting through the streets and nearly running into several people, stands, and carts; her short, dark hair trailed behind her as she ran. _But advice is advice! That old man's been good to me, so he must know of some place that can get me a job._ She'd been so preoccupied with the very concept of employment that she ran a good two blocks past where she was supposed to drop the fish off at. Of course, by the time she realized this, her muscles were on fire and she was out of breath, so she decided to leisurely walk back to the inn, smiling brighter than she'd ever smiled before on the way back. However, she quickly became impatient and broke into another run, despite it killing her legs, after only a few minutes of walking.

Murasa, not wanting to waste any time, burst into the inn and charged into the back, heading for the kitchen. She dropped the fish and spun on her heel, nearly falling in the process, and bolted back out without saying so much as a "Hello" to the numerous people inside. She hadn't the time to be distracted by chit-chat and manners, she had a mission. However, she did have time to be distracted by her own thoughts, as she contemplated what the old fishmonger said.

Advice, huh? She slowed, and then stopped to rest her back against a wall in order to catch her breath, a decision which soon led to her sliding down the wall and sitting for a few minutes.

_He was looking at the dock about the time he said that. Does that mean he found a job for me on one of the ships?_ She paused, frowning at the realization of the date. It was near the end of the month, when the fishing boats came back. He very well could have just been keeping an eye out for his shipment. A new thought sprung into her head. _A job hauling fish, maybe? But,_ she thought as she bit her lip. _That would only last me a few weeks at the most…_ She blinked a few times and looked up to the slowly setting sun, realizing that it wasn't just the end of the month; it was nearing the end of the day. She had to hurry back or else she'd miss the old man. With a determined look in her eye, she spoke to herself.

"Murasa, stop overthinking this. Stand up, and run like hell so you don't miss out on a job." She pushed her dark hair out of her eyes, matting it down with the sweat she'd accumulated from running from one end of the city to the other in the heat of the day. Pushing herself from the wall, she stood and brushed off her clothing and, indeed, proceeded to run like hell, putting her earlier sprint to shame.

A few minutes passed and she'd arrived at the old man's stand. Granted she was exhausted, breathless, and nearly tripping over her own feet, but she made it. That was good enough for her. The old man waved with a gnarled hand, laughing heartily as she fell against one of the poles holding a canopy over their heads. He patted her shoulder, an action that led to her knees buckling, nearly knocking her over in the process.

"From my fish stand, to that inn way out on the horizon," he squinted as he looked toward the inn, barely able to make out its roof in the distance. "You took a cart, somehow magically flew, or have some amazing legs and lungs on yourself, girl." He turned, digging around under his bench and threw a rag at her. It proceeded to hit her head and drape over her face for a bit before she wiped herself down.  
"Y-y-yeah…" Murasa nodded breathlessly. She was barely able to speak through the thick rag. "If only I _could_ fly, huh?" She weakly tossed the rag back to him, forcing the old man to lean over his stand to get it. "So…" She took a deep breath, coughing hard. "How about that advice?" She grinned as the old man looked out to the docks. She followed his gaze and could guess at his answer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Come with me, kid. I happen to know a man who just might be able to help you." The old man grabbed his thick, wool coat and began to put it on. "It gets a bit chilly after the sun starts goin' down." Murasa looked up at the fading sunlight as the man spoke. "Being near the water … well that only make it worse. No cold, like the sea cold, they say." He chuckled, tossing a smaller, patchy coat to Murasa, followed by a white sailor's hat much too small to properly fit her. She poked at the tiny anchor emblem sewn onto it. The stitching was giving out, and the tiny anchor seemed to be in danger of falling and made a mental note to get it sewn back on properly. The old man turned back around, slapping his thigh and letting out a laugh.

"What? Of _course_ it looks silly with the coat." The worn, burgundy coat was too large for her and the sleeves draped over her hands, making her look like a child trying to emulate her father. "Especially since I look like some kid playing dress-up who couldn't find the right uniform." She chuckled. "Now," she started, looking around for an example, "if I had a nice, white shirt to go with this or something like th-" She stopped mid-sentence to find that the old man, still laughing, had left her behind. "Hey, don't just leave me here!" She ran after him, shoving the hat into her coat.

"Now," the old man slowed, allowing Murasa to catch up to him. He put a finger to his wind-chapped lips. "Let me do the talkin', and you just play along." Patting Murasa on the back, he glanced around the harbor as if looking for someone. Murasa curiously glanced around as well.

The dock, as was usual around this time of the month when trade and fishing ships had the tendency to return, was buzzing with activity. Some of this buzzing was literal, as beehives had become a fairly popular import for upstart beekeepers outside of the city. People of all ages, races, backgrounds gathered here. It was tradition, after all, to come out and see the new goods brought in from neighboring ports, far away lands, and – if one was incredibly lucky – the depths of the great oceans. Among the gathering, old and retired sailors – such as Murasa's escort – were prominent. As the pair walked the dock, stories could be heard.

"Listen, boy," the stories usually began. "When I was in my prime," the storyteller said, patting his leg, which gave off an unnatural, wooden thump. "I lost my leg out…" The sailor fumbled with a map. "Right around here. So, if you ever go out there, you be careful, yeah?"

Cautionary tales weren't the only thing being told, but tended to resonate with the less-experienced sailors and dock workers. It was a dangerous job, but one that led to stories that could be passed down throughout the generations. Murasa overheard many other things at the harbor, although she couldn't focus on them completely without running into something or someone. 'The one that got away,' invitations to drink, congratulations on a successful trip, and – the most absurd in Murasa's opinion – legends of ghost ships and skeletal crews. Everyone was talking or being talked to, sailor or not.

"This place is so… so busy," she said. Murasa was always stunned by the sheer number of people and goods. No matter how many times she'd seen it before, it always seemed to get bigger. "It's… It's like chaotic, but an orderly sort of chaotic, you know?" She shook her head and came back to reality after nearly running into a beehive.

"That's one way of putting it; and it's a good way, too." The old man looked back in order to make sure the girl was still with him. "Eventually, you get used to it and just find comfort in the coming of ships and sailors." He smiled warmly and wiped a tear from his eye. "It almost, _almost_ makes me want to go back on a boat. But, I'm too old," he exclaimed and pat Murasa again. "Not to mention, I've got my stand to keep running." The next several minutes passed in silence, until Murasa finally spoke up.  
"So, who are we meeting? A harbor foreman or overseer? Someone who organizes merchandise and goods to be hauled out? A cleaning crew?" Murasa was anxious to find out. The old man chuckled and responded, speaking softly. Even through the hustle and bustle of the harbor, she could hear him clearly.

"Kid, I know a fellow who – sea willing it, of course – should have made it back. He should be sitting somewhere with the smaller boats, so we've still got a bit of a ways to go. However, this boy owes me a favor – a story either he'll tell you while you're working for him or one that I'll tell you when you're old enough to drink."

"But I am," Murasa interrupted.

"Well, I'll tell you over a drink sometime, then. Anyway, the boy owes me a favor. So, I _should_ be able to get help you get something in the way of employment. It won't be easy, it won't be glamorous, it may not even be without its dangers, but it would be better than waiting in line with the other poor fools who thought that living in the city meant success. It doesn't, and I know that first-hand. It's hard living here, really; however, that's not something we want bogging our minds down, so let's keep lookin'."  
Murasa nodded, smiling. "You're not too bad, old man." She offered a hand to her grizzled old friend. "I owe you a drink sometime." The old man laughed, reaching out to pat Murasa on the head, rustling the hair beneath her hat.

"Thank me when you get a job, kid. Heh, make sure you don't hate it either, before you start handing out free drinks."

"Hey, a job's a job, old man." She grinned. "But enough chit-chat. C'mon, let's go!" Murasa took off at a brisk pace.


End file.
